Atrocity At St. Peter Street

mustache and goateee cut a la Napoleon. He claimed to be well off, was extremely polite to everybody, and, being of a quiet and retiring disposition, did not attest special attention from his fellow lodgers. In July eighteen eighty seven, doctor Jules Diech, together with his aged mother and his two pretty daughters, Juliette aged twelve and Laurence, nine years arrived from the outskirts of Paris and secured rooms in the second story of the house number one sixteen Charter Street.

Diech was an upholster, and being a competent workman, managed to make a good living for his little family. They board it at the Pension Francais, a French restaurant on Charter Street, and there it was that they met Eddien de Champ, whose polished and affable manners gained for him the esteem and respect of the Datsch family. Deuchamp visited their home and friendly relations sprang up between him and the children.

which are numerous bottles filled with various mixtures. Upon the mantle, lighted by an oil lamp, and two sputtering tallow candles, our large number of empty vials and bottles of all sizes and forms. It wasn't to this room that Deschamp conducted the Diets Sisters yesterday, and it was there that he last evening committed a most horrible crime true crime history in presence An Eye for an Eye, a special edition of yesterday's news exploring the criminal justice system at

its most extreme, inflicting the death penalty. Episode three hundred and seventy two delves into the history of one of the most hideous villains to ever stalk New Orleans streets, a predator so vile that he ranks right up there with Albert Fish in his depravity. Even if you don't believe in capital punishment, you'll agree that Edieon Dechamp deserved his punishment. And then some I'm true crime historian Richard O. Jones, and for your horror and indignation, I give you atrocity.

At Saint Peter Street, la Chateaine, juliet and the perverted professor of magnetic physiology. The sisters Juliette and Laurent's diets had frequently visited the dingy room occupied by Eddie Anne Duchamp. They were well acquainted with its poverty stricken appearance, and the uncanny surroundings had no terrors for them. They knew Deschamp and had confidence in him.

Dechamp again went to the table, and, after securing a handkerchief from his coat pocket, took a large bottle, and, saturating the handkerchief with its contents, laid the wet cloth on the face of the unconscious girl, leaving only the eyes and forehead free. Little Laurence, with childish curiosity, noticed the doctor's every motion and noted how her sister was affected.

She remarked that Juliette was breathing heavily. She saw that the liquid on the handkerchief had evaporated, and noticed that dechampleted again and again with the colorless fluid. Finally, Juliette went off in a peaceful slumber, and then Dechamp took the small vial which he had first given her to inhale and placed it to his nostrils. The drug had

its effects, and Dechamp lay alongside the sleeping girl. Little Laurence, growing weary of the quietude, moved restlessly on her seat at the foot of the great four posted bed, and Dechamp arose, and, procuring another piece of cloth from his trunk, saturated it with the contents of the big bottle, and told her to place it to her nose. Warned by a strange presentiment of danger, the little girl cunningly pretended to inhale the drug and sat motionless for some time,

holding the damp cloth in her hand. Dechamp now arose and told Laurence to go home and tell her father that he was tired of living and intended to commit suicide. He showed her out, and as she stood on the landing, she heard the huge bolt as it shot into the socket when Dechamp locked the door behind her. Crying bitterly, Laurence hurried to her home and with childlike hesitation, told

her father everything that had occurred in Dechamp's room. Horrified at the terrible intelligence, the father ran to Deschamp's house and knocked for admission. All was silent within the room, and the father, torn by anxiety for the safety of his daughter, endeavored to break open the door. The noise he made awakened a private watchman named Charles Sarah living in the house, and to him mister Deech quickly related his terrible suspicion. Their united efforts proving of no avail

against the strong door. Mister Deech ran to the third Precinct station and informed Captain Journey of the facts. Corporal Morris and Special Officer Durrance hurried to the house, and despite the efforts of the four men, the front door could not be opened. The adjoining room was visited and The door leading into de Champ's apartment was tried, but it too resisted the efforts of the officers to effect

an entrance. The officers then went to the gallery, and, leaping over the low railing, broke open a door fronting on Saint Peter Street. Upon entering the room, a horrible so met their gaze. Upon the bed lay Juliette, Dietch and Ettie and Dechamp entirely disrobed. The girl was dead, Her eyes were half open, in her mouth, terribly burned by the chloroform which Dechamp had administered, was swollen to

twice its natural size. Dechamp lay beside her, His mouth was wide open, his lips were working convulsively in his breathing heavy. The horror stricken officers, realizing the situation, immediately summoned The ambulance had responded promptly, and the students set to work to resuscitate the man. Coroner le Montier was sent for and Dechamp was removed to the Charity Hospital, where he was placed in the reception room and every

effort was made to save his life. After the man had been taken from the house, the coroner turned his attention to the dead girl. She was well developed for age and her features were finely formed. She was a chtan and her alive complexion was set off by an abundance of light brown wavy curls. The coroner said that death was caused by chloroform. After his removal to the hospital, the students busied themselves in restoring the dying man to consciousness.

The stomach pump was called into service, and nearly an ounce of the anesthetic removed at his reviving appliances were resorted to, and at about eleven thirty o'clock, the man

was pronounced out of danger. When this fact was established beyond peradventure, word was sent to the police headquarters that the man was recovering, and, acting upon this advice, Special Officer Durrance, accompanied by Sergeant Fleming, repaired at once to the hospital in the patrol wagon for the purpose of conveying the man to the third Precinct station, where the

proper charges could be preferred against him. On reaching the hospital, the party were ushered into the reception room, where Dechamp was found lying upon a couch. Those present were doctor Lemonnier, who was found interrogating the man, who was now apparently conscious, and who was quietly making answers to the questions put to him. The man seemed bewildered when told that the girl was dead, and said that he was sorry they did not let him die too, as he wanted to.

He had tried to kill himself, but was discovered too soon. The girl, he said, he had been intimate with for some time past, but previous to this she had been his subject in his experiments of magnetism. He had been educating and training her in the mysteries of magnetism for some time until recently when he left the city for a trip. He was in the middle of making his trips out of the city to the different parishes, and on his return always found Juliette ready to receive him.

He found her an agreeable companion and never permitted himself to suggest an immoral proposition to her. On this recent trip, he was gone a little longer than usual, and on his return he learned that Juliet had been ruined by a young man, and he questioned her about it. The child at first denied it, but subsequently admitted it, and then he took liberties with her which she never resented.

On being questioned concerning the girl's death, he was at first not inclined to talk, and affected to be in ignorance of the fact.

of the bottle containing the chloroform. She then saturated the handkerchief with the drug and went into bed and laid down with the handkerchief held in her hand a short distance from her face, and said, Oh God, how pleasant, how nice it smells. Suddenly she fell into a slumber. He then inhaled the contents of the bottle and swallowed

some of the chloroform, and entered the bed. When Descham realized that the girl was really dead, he took one of his dental instruments, an instrument about four inches in length with a point on it like a needle, and stabbed himself three or four times in his breast, with a view of perforating his lungs, so as to make death sure and certain. He positively refused to say what were the motives which actuated the girl and himself to

make way with themselves. The girl, he said, met his advances voluntarily and was very much in love with him. Upon the conclusion of de Champ's statement, doctor Lemontier said the examination showed that the girl had not been subjected to misusage last night. The statement that the girl took the drug of her own free will and saturated her handkerchief and other particulars is not corroborated by Little Laurence, the sister of Juliet, who was present in the room.

On learning the mission of the officers, doctor Lemontier stated that it would be impossible to remove the man in his present condition to the police station. He had been restored to consciousness, it was true, but any undue excitement by throwing into a state of coma. His condition was said to be very delicate and dangerous in the extreme. Notwithstanding the fact that he could converse rationally, but the

time was not opportune to remove him. The doctor doubted whether the man, even if he should attempt to escape, could walk or run above one hundred yards, and further argued against the immediate removal of the prisoner. During this time, Dechamp looked anxiously about the room, his eyes roaming from one object to another, as though he contemplated flight. Resuming the examination, the prisoner stated to doctor Legonnier that the girl had been his mistress for upward of four months.

It was doctor Lemonnier who discovered the instrument with which Deuchamp had inflicted the stab on his own person. At first, doctor Lemonnier surmised that the instrument had played a part in the killing of the girl, but on examination no wounds could be found upon her. When the man was removed to the hospital, the students stated that certain wounds were discovered, which the coroner subsequently satisfied himself by examination, had been made by this instrument in the man's endeavor

to perforate the lungs. The wounds, three or four in number, were barely visible and were located between the third and fourth ribs. Although the man destroyed every paper and every proof which might lead to his identification or family relations, Doctor Lemonnier succeeded, after much research, in unearthing from his effects four letters written by the young girl to her aged lover. These letters, childish effusions at best, were clean in tone and moral sentiment, and dwelt upon the deep

love she bore Deucham. One of the letters, however, though bearing the signature of the girl, was clearly not written by her, as the handwriting was quite dissimilar from that in which the other three letters were written. Doctor Lemonnier, having concluded his labors at the hospital, hurried to the Central Police Station for the purpose of stating to Chief Hennessy the reasons which precluded the removal of the man

to the station house. On the way, the Chief was met in a cab and together, after a short consultation, the two departed for Dechamp's residence on Saint Peter Street, where the body of the girl was exposed. On reaching there, Chief Hennessy made minute inquiry into all the facts gathered by the coroner at the autopsy. The Chief was visibly affected and stigmatized the crime as one of the most

atrocious that had ever come under his personal observation. It was disclosed at the conference of the two officials that the father of the young girl was averse to having the body removed to the residence of her parents, as her grandmother, who was very old, was then lying at the point of death, and it was feared the shock might prove fatal. It was also said that the girl's people were very poor and could ill afford to defray

the funeral expenses. On receiving this information, Chief Hennessy generously offered to bear the entire cost of her interment if it should prove that her parents were too poor to barrier. Doctor Lemonnier stated that he had interrogated the young girl's sister, Laurence, and had gleaned from her that it was customary for her to see sister to visit to champ and that on one occasion he had taken certain liberties with the

dead girl in the presence of Laurence. When asked why she had not informed her parents of this matter, the girl stated that Juliet had imposed silence by threatening her with bodily harm if she revealed anything that she had observed After having obtained all the information available at the home of Duchamp, the chief and doctor Lemonnier proceeded to the residence of the dead girl for the purpose a further looking into the causes which brought about the tragedy.

A business card of Duchamp, which was picked up in the room where the terrible deed was committed, advertised him as a professor of magnetic physiology February one, eighteen eighty nine. As soon as Edieon Dechamp recovered from the effects of the chloroform taken by him immediately after the murder, he was removed to the third Precinct station, where he was incarcerated to await arraignment. When the second Recorder's court was convened,

the prisoner was arraigned before Recorder Drove. He pleaded not guilty and was promptly committed to perish prison without bail to await examination. Guarded by Durrance, the frightened wretch was conveyed to the old jail, where, safe from mob violence, he drew a long breath and made himself as comfortable as possible. In the meantime, the indignation throughout the city grew in intensity. Muttered curses long and deep were showered on the head of the murderer, but no organized attempt

was made to do himbodily harm. Large crowds congregated in front of the old building at number sixty four Saint Peter Street, where the crime had been committed. All day, the spectators lingered in the vicinity, gazing blankly at the old house and discussing the details of the horrible crime. An officer was on duty in front of the premises, and he managed with great difficulty to keep a passageway cleared for pedestrians. As the day wore on apace, the

crowd increased until the entire street was blockaded. Then a hearse arrived with a little coffin. This was a signal for a rush in the direction of the doorway, every person in the crowd being anxious to catch a glimpse of the murdered girl. They were not rewarded, however, as the coroner had not yet held his autopsy and the body could not be removed until that official had completed

his investigation. A little afternoon, corner Le Montier, accompanied by a number of medical students, reached the house and slowly forcing his way through the crowd, loudly knocked on the big gate, which was opened by a policeman. Entering the wide alley, the corner and his jury mounted the narrow stairway, reaching the room where the dead body was exposed. The time fixed for the inquest had arrived. Corner le Monnier entered the dingy little room, carrying under his arm his

case of instruments. He was followed by a number of medical students, representatives of the daily press, and a policeman. An officer was stationed at the great door opening into the courtyard below to keep out intruders. In a businesslike, matter of fact way, the man of science proceeded to make a minute inspection of the room. Nothing escaped him.

which still lingered around her pretty little mouth. The miserable surroundings the blanketless and sheetless bed did not in the least detract from the beauty of the child, whose dead face was given a lifelike appearance by the suffused color left by the deadly chloroform. The drug had burned her tender skin, not sufficiently to cause a blister, but still enough to leave a ruddy stain. Assisted by the students and spectators, the body was placed on a small deal

table in the center of the room. The table was not quite as long as the corpse, and as a consequence, the child's feet, encased in rough woolen socks, dangled over its end, displaying the shapely but small limbs of the subject.

A ray of sunlight, forcing its way through the dirt begrimed window, fell on the face of the corpse, the low, broad forehead, delicately marked eyebrows, long black eyelashes, classic nose with finely cut nostrils, and pretty smiling mouth, whose rather short upper lip exposed the tips of a row of pearly teeth, denoting that the girl was not of low origin. It was a beautiful face, made more lovely by a wealth of curly auburn hair, which fell in luxurious profusion

about the snow white shoulders. Although childlike, there was something womanly in the expression of the features. But here all indication of womanhood ended. For the neck, arms, and chest were extremely youthful, even babyish. Covering the body the corner, before undertaking the more important duty of holding the autopsy, made a careful examination of the room. On a chair near the window, the child's clothing had been placed before

she retired for her last long sleep. A woolen underskirt, carefully folded hung over the back of the chair, telling more plainly than words, that the person who placed it there had acted with great deliberation. The dress was also neatly folded, and each garment in turn had been carefully laid away. Two little shoes, side by side, cunningly peeped out from under the mass of clothing. In marked contrast, the wearing apparel of the man was scattered carelessly about

the dingy apartment. The imposing array of bottles, vials, and pill boxes on the mantle were examined. Chloroform, paragoric and other drugs composed the collection. A box of gold fillings for teeth was the only thing of value unearthed. The ashes in the fireplace, where Dechamp had evidently burned his waste papers were picked over, but they revealed absolutely nothing. Then the trunks were inspected and the letters written.

the time, forgot the presence of the corpse. Their attention was, however, soon recalled to the duty to be performed by Corner le Monnier, who approached the body in removing the sheet, prepared to hold an autopsy. This is a beautiful subject, he said, as he toyed with the long auburn hair, which hung an entangled mass of sunny curls over the

edge of the table and halfway to the floor. It would be a shame to disfigure such a corpse, and it is not necessary in fact, the head can be opened, and when the operation is over, no one who sees the body will know that it has been operated upon. While speaking, the corner had disentangled the curls. A round comb which the child is used to keep back or hair,

was pressed into service. The hair was parted directly in the back of the head from ear to ear, and the upper portion thrown over the face and held in position by the round comb. The back hair hung down, revealing a clean part around the back of the skull.

the body. The heart was flaccid and empty. Nowhere could chloroform be detected by smell or otherwise. It was late when the autopsy was finished, but the crowd on the outside of the house had not diminished, and the anxious populace were rewarded by seeing the little coffin. They were

denied even a glance at the face of the dead. However, as the coffin lid had been tightly screwed down, the body was placed in a funeral wagon and conveyed to the establishment of Undertaker bunod On Saint Peter, between Charter and Royal Streets, where the remains were exposed.

in hand solicited subscriptions from the visitors. Quite a sum had been subscribed when Captain Journey arrived and informed mister Bonart that the collection would have to be discontinued. Mister Bonart explained that he desired to raise a fund for the father of the child, who was in needy circumstances. As Captain Journey did not think further collections were appropriate,

he requested mister Bonart to discontinue the same. Mister Bonart acquiesced it is impossible to estimate the number of people who viewed the remains. Thousands and thousands came and looked at the fair corpse. The crowd was very orderly. The officers remained on duty until relieved at night by others. Yesterday afternoon, a reporter accompanied by an artist visited the parish prison for the purpose of seeing and putting a few direct questions to that murderer of murderers, Etienne Duchamp.

Duchamp is a short, thickset man, probably not over five feet seven inches in height. He is of the decidedly French type, his skin being dark and his hair, which is thick and bushy, very black. He has a full beard which is decidedly touched with the gray hairs of a man who has past the middle age of life. His eyebrows are quite heavy, shading a pair of piercing

eyes of hazel color. The face as a whole is not striking, but of such a type as to affect the individual with a feeling of nervousness or insecurity, were he to once even for a second rivet his closely set piercing eyes upon you. His cheek bones are rather prominent, made especially so by his low receding forehead. The jawbone is firmly set, and his whole facial expression betokens an air of determination. His general appearance is shabby, with a

light cotton shirt open at the neck. He had on a black coat, a dark pair of pantaloons, but feet uncovered save by a pair of unlaced shoes. To all appearances, he suffers very little from the wounds he inflicted upon himself or from the effects of a good, big dose of chloroform. His step is quite firm, though he stoops

just a trifle in walking. Having been told to take a seat, Deuchamp was immediately engaged in conversation by the reporter, who attempted to interest him while the artist was busy in sketching the face of the murderer. Although the professor of physical magnetism. Spoke in the tongue of France. His speech was rapid in his gesticulations many there was no difficulty in following up as every idea. He wrote his name without trembling or hesitancy, upon a piece of paper

which was handed him. I am fifty years old, he said, and was born in the town of Renee, France. He claims to have practiced dentistry his profession in France, but he made no pretense as a dentist in this city. Certainly, according to his account, he made no money at it. Here his father was a merchant, and both his parents were natives of France. Deuchamp claimed to have been able to cure any disease by his power of magnetism, which however, could be made brought to bear only through his medium

to be found in the person of a virgin. He stated that he loved his profession or art above all things else, that in the person of this young and lovely child, Juliet, he had found a most fit subject for the perfecting of his wonderful art as a doctor of magnetism. And because he realized this fact and what an opportunity had offered himself for his beloved cause he had cultivated the friendship of the father and children from the very first meeting at the Pension Francais. That the

girl was pure up to five months ago. The murderer does not deny. Indeed, purity of the flesh and mind were essentials to the charm m to be worked through her as his medium. But this astonishing statement he considerably muddles by declaring that the girl's father was used occasionally as a medium in his practice. Was the father an ideal of purity as was the innocence of the beautiful child? This is one of the questions that remain unanswered. Have

you ever cured or attended any cases in this city? Many? Was the nervous reply, for he seemed to realize what was coming next, mention any one case, giving the particulars a name. This too received no reply, though the doctor pleaded as an excuse the delicacy of giving the names

of any parties. One month and some few days ago, this learned professor of physical magnetism discovered so he says that his personal magnetism of his victim was fast losing hold, and that and his experiments were suffering.

He suddenly became aware of the work of the artist, and, brushing aside the tears and countenancing not the person addressing him, he hastily arose from his seat in an endeavor to smooth and to turn down the lapel of his coat, muttering some remark as to his general appearance. The uniform look of absolute disgust and total loathing which spread over the faces of the few present, spoke louder than words

the innermost feelings of the interrogator and his companions. He continued, She loved me, told me through private letters, and voluntarily gave me the privilege of all liberties.

and that they had taken the fatal drug together. He claims to remember nothing of the n of the tragedy, and declares that the news of the girl's death, when told him yesterday morning by a police officer, had filled him with the greatest sorrow.

causes which prompted the killing. That Dechamp was jealous of the girl. All agreed, and it was generally conceded that, fearing that the day was fast approaching when she would learn to love another and leave him alone and desolate, the miserable wretch determined that he would blot out her young life and then fittingly end his miserable existence by

committing suicide. The accounts of the murder give ample proof of the great deliberation with which the murderer had planned and executed his diabolical crime, and they also furnish evidence that even in the hour of death, decham was vain of his conquest. He had destroyed every article, every scrap of paper, everything in fact which might serve as a

clue to his previous history. But with devilish conceit, he had carefully preserved her love letters and placed them in his trunk, where he knew they must be found when his effects were searched. The construction and maturity of expression in these letters caused many to doubt that no one so young could have written them. It was at first thought that the letters were forgeries written by Deschamp and had not been penned by the child. A reporter yesterday

obtained one of these letters. The handwriting in her copybook, given to the reporter by her father, proves beyond the shadow of a doubt that Juliette penned the letters. Whether she composed them or not, however, is an open question. The reporter visited the parish prison and obtained from Descham his signature, it does not in the least resemble the girl's handwriting. Yesterday morning, little Juliette Deech lay in her

coffin and mister Bernot's undertaking establishment. Thousands of morbidly curious people swarmed into the narrow street and jostled each other in their eagerness to intrude themselves into the small apartment and gaze upon the remains of the poor child, whose sad story should have inspired respectful pity rather than vulgar, purient,

callous curiosity. She was a pitiful sight, still beautiful in death, as she lay there in her snowy shroud, exposed to the rude gaze of thousands of idlers, who, while she lived, had neither known of nor cared for her. Of course, everybody denounced the miserable wretch who had wrecked her young life and some few made small contributions toward defraying the funeral expenses. The coffin, shroud and ceremonial appointments, though inexpensive,

were pretty and tasteful. Shortly before ten o'clock, the hour appointed for the funeral, the father and the little sister of the dead child were taken in the undertaker's carriage, and with two or three friends, took their position beside the coffin. Father, baronet with acolytes, performed basic religious ceremonies. The sorrowing father and little sister kissed the cold forehead of their lost one, and the coffin lid was screwed down.

The pallbearers then carried the casket to the hearse. When the procession, which consists of six carriages, proceeded to the old Saint Louis Cemetery, there was an immense crowd at the cemetery, and it was with some difficulty that a path was cleared by which the pallbearers and those accompanying them reached the vault. The priest read the day Profundus and sprinkled the vault, and after the tomb had been closed,

all knelt and offered a prayer. A winding stairway in the courtyard of a certain old Spanish building, which sets at the southeast corner of Charters in Saint Louis Streets, leads the intruder to a partitioned room on the first floor, where mister John Deech and his humble family live and have been living ever since their arrival in the city eighteen months ago. The apartments are but poorly furnished. Still, the mutual happiness and love of this simple little family

of four made up for all deficiencies. For mister Deech had brought his old mother with him, she being in her declining years, the one comfort to him and the only mother to his two little girls. And these gloomy surroundings with an inconsolable grief. Upon him, having just come from the funeral of his beloved child, mister Deech was found in the early part of yesterday afternoon, a small sized man who, even in poverty, dresses with all the

tidiness of a friend schman and a gentleman. Has quite a florid expression, a sandy mustache, with clean shaven face and rather dark hair. His appearance is pleasing, though perhaps it is difficult to judge of the true spirit of the man under his present most trying circumstances. He is forty years of age and replied quietly, but always unhesitatingly, to the questions put to him. He speaks only in his native tongue, not even appreciating the extremes conveyed in the Anglo Saxons.

as his card of merit shows to prove. When in the early spring of eighteen eighty seven the factory closed due to the failure of the firm, he resolved to come to America and seek his fortunes in the vicinity of San Antonio, where he had been led to believe by immigration agents that it was shortly coming to be a great railroad center in San Antonio. He remained eight days and then came to New Orleans, thinking that among a large French population he could find some ready means

of a livelihood. But here too he received the disappointment, for the wealth was in the hands of the English speaking people, and how could he be expected to follow his trade when the main essential was missing in his absolute ignorance of the English tongue. Meanwhile, his funds had been consumed in traveling, and he had to provide bread

for the maintenance of his already suffering family. So securing these modest apartments at one sixteen Charter Street, he made a bedchamber and workshop out of the same room, and pursued his father's trade, that of a cabinet maker, but mostly doing odd jobs of carpenter's work, for when a very young man he had received many instructive lessons from his father in this particular trade. So thus they had been living quietly and modestly for many months, the family, however,

having to live from hand to mouth. He said that his friends were few outside of those he met in connection with his work. He probably does not know twenty people, what are the respective ages of the children?

of the murdered girl's age. Laurence, the other sister, an only remaining child, was nine years old on the twenty third of November last In reply to a query about the mother of pretty little Laurance, Dietsch said, you have the image of my wife and my poor remaining child. But Laurence seems to be of a gay disposition, the exact opposite of her deceased sister, who, according to all accounts, was quiet and retiring in disposition. The mother was mild

and gentle in all her actions and words. Her life was so characterized up to the time of her death in January eighteen eighty one. Juliette had the mother's disposition, being one of the good, timid and a fectionate children, at least so both father and grandmother say. It seems that the two sisters were very fond of each other. In company with missus A Moulan's little three year old boy, these three children played together as if one in the

same age. When questioned about the four letters written by Juliette Deech de de Champs, which letters it will be remembered, were the only unburned papers found in the room at number sixty five Saint Peter Street upon the night of the tragedy, mister Deech said it was an impossibility for any letter or writing to have come from her own hand, for my child could but barely write, much less express

her thoughts on paper. He then showed the unfinished copybook, in which there were numerous repetitions of the verbs au revoir and eetre, and several exercises copied, some from French primer, containing, said the sorrow stricken father, the great balk of Juliette's writings during her schooling with miss Adelaide Roue, whose little school is at number sixty eight Saint Peter Street, a

few doors from Dechamp's office. Dietsch then went on to state that Juliette could not have written two lines of her own accord, that she was always timid, and that he, as well as his child, had been basely deceived under plea of friendship. In August eighteen eighty seven he had met Dechamp, and that ever since November the same year, that man had visited them daily in their humble apartments. Thus he was deceived by the man's constant pretenses, by

his repeated attentions to the children. He would let both children go out together with the doctor, for his confidence was always nursed by the impostor, but that he was always careful with whom the children associated, and that no

one ever came to see them. Both Diech and Missus Aimon, who owns the and lives upon the same floor, denied the existence of any young man or personage by the name of Charlie referred to in one of the letters bearing Juliette's signature, and claimed by Dechamp to have been the seducer of the twelve year old girl. Finally, mister Deech says that the whole tragedy was undoubtedly a premeditated affair of Deuchamp, arranged in the villainy of his heart, to rob a child of its honor, and to throw

a parent in despair. He was asked, were you Dechamp's medium. The reply was in the negative, but mister Deech acknowledged that Dechamp had several times tried to mesmerize him, but without success. He simply looked upon it as one of the doctor's hobbies. Miss Adelaide Roue, who has a small French and English school on Saint Peter Street, was interviewed by the reporter about the characteristics of Juliette Diech.

owes him a month's pay for board. The old German lady who keeps the house at number sixty four Saint Peter Street, the scene of the tragedy. States that Deschamp's habits were regular, except that he left town occasionally for a month or two. She stated that he first commenced bringing the Diets children to his room last summer. Question and what kind of a girl was Juliette?

now rests in peace. May fourteenth, eighteen ninety two, after nearly four years imprisonment, two trials, two convictions in the Criminal District Court, two affirmations of the sentences by the Louisiana Supreme Court, two applications for pardon, and one reprieved by the Governor. Eddie Anne de Champ, the hypnotic doctor who on January thirtieth, eighteen eighty nine, murdered little Juliette

Deach xpiated his crime upon the gallows yesterday afternoon. The facilities afforded the representatives of the press for learning how Eddie Anne Dechamp spent his last hours were so extremely

limited as to not be worth mentioning. By the courtesy of Sheriff Villaire and the parish prison authorities, the reporters were permitted to spend the night on the Orleans Street banquette, just outside the main entrance to the prison, where they were occasionally able to hear the tread of one of the guards pacing up and down the ground floor corridor. But beyond this the proceedings within the building were left

purely to conjecture and hearsay. Spending nearly a whole night with absolutely nothing to do except watching in wait is not pleasant under any circumstances. But to spend the latter half of the night in the very shadow of such a gloomy and gruesome old pile as the Parish prison, fairly saturated as it is with the atmosphere of crime, violence,

misery and tragedy, is even worse. Fortunately for the weary watchers, the night was a pleasant one, as there was not only an almost full moon, but a soft and balmy

and atmosphere as that of midsummer. Slowly, the hours dragged along, with only an occasional break in the monotony caused by the passing in or out of one of the prison officials, who, in answer to the eager inquiries for news pressed upon them by the watchers outside the gate, always gave the same stereotyped answer, he is resting quietly, and there is nothing at all stirring. The longest night must have an ending, however, and at last came signs that the weary vigil was drawn.

trees in Congo's Square. While the gradual lifting of the night shadows was almost imperceptibly changing them from black to the darkest green, still the streets were silent as a tomb and that dim, uncertain light, the deep shadows of the grim old gallows Tree in its leafy and more youthful neighbors cast an almost impenetrable gloom with grisly recollections inseparably connected with the spot was almost awe and as the light of the coming morning widened, the gloomy shadows

about the blighted gallows Tree only seemed to deepen, and the dismal, ghostly suggestions of the place and the hour were intensified, as one after one, dim shadowy form was seen trooping along in those deep shadows towards the market.

They were only prosaic commonplace people on their way to their daily avocations, but it required no vivid effort of the imagination to associate them in the mind of the beholder with the troubled spirits of some one or other of the many who have met death in its most

direful form, in and about this historic spot. As dawn widened to daylight and the bright sunshine of Eddie end de Shamp's last morning on earth flooded the rusty and gingy looking streets about the old prison, anyone passing would never have mistrusted that anything outside the ordinary course of events was about to take place. There was no scene

of Sightseers collected. Why this was so, nobody appeared to be able to explain, and it seemed more than strange that the crowd in front of the prison should have

been so slow in gathering. One explanation, and probably the most reasonable one, was that, knowing something of Descham's religious views, the general public were under the impression that he would not make his appearance in the chapel as other condemned men had done, and therefore they did not think it worth their while to spend their time in waiting for a man who was not at all likely to show himself at any of the front windows where they could

procure even the briefest glimpse of him. Another reason why the crowd was slow in gathering may be found in the general belief that, having postponed the evil days so long, Descham would, at the last moment succeed in securing still

another postponement in the prison. All the necessary preparations were steadily going forward, and though the condemned man had steadily refused to receive the consolations of religion, the sisters and the reverend Father LeBlanc were admitted at an early hour, as it was understood that the doomed man had promised,

under certain stipulated conditions to attend mass. He had a great aversion to being made a spectacle of and before he would promise to even set foot in the chapel, he had a distinct understanding with the sheriff that no one was to approach or speak to him. The upper corridor was cleared of everybody but the prison officials when de Champ walked to the chapel, which was soon afterward

filled with other prisoners and officials. Des Schamp occupied a seat on the bench near the chapel door, but it was close against the wall so as to make it impossible for anyone outside the chapel to catch even a glimpse of him. For the first time since his trial, he had made an effort to dress well. He wore a white shirt, black trousers and black alpaca coat, but no waistcoat, collar nor necktie. His hair had been closely cut and his face, with the exception of his upper lip,

cleanly shaven. This had made a remarkable difference in the facial expression, and was not for the better. The long and almost flowing beard he had worn at the time of Baker's execution had given him a patriarchal expression, but its removal had revealed a weak looking receding chin, which is perhaps the most objectionable peculiarity of de Champ's face. Besides this, however, the absence of a full beard brings to light a broad, sensuous looking lower jaw which had

hitherto been wholly concealed. Altogether, the prisoner did not present an appearance that was at all prepossessing, as he sat in the chapel, looking worried and nervous, and paying but scant and perfunctory attention to the solemn service. After Mass, he managed to slip unobserved back to his cell as the other prisoners were leaving the chapel and taking the

opposite direction. Very soon after Mass, he had a brief conference with the French consul, during which Dechamp displayed a nervous anxiety and eagerness calculated to induce the belief that he had not quite yet abandoned hope of reprieve. As the consul was leaving the condemned cell, the prisoner bade him goodbye with unwonted cordiality, and seemed loath to part

with him. But what the nature of the talk had been could not be ascertained, the consul saying that his official position precluded the propriety of his speaking upon the subject. By ten o'clock there was a large crowd in front of the prison, and it was receiving many additions every minute. The number of outsiders admitted to the prison was altogether extraordinary,

many estimating the number as high as eight hundred. Of these many swarmed into the first, second, and third corridors, wedging themselves as tightly as herrings in a box around each of the small grated windows, commanding a view of the gloomy looking oven like court containing the gallows. But the favorite resort of those whose morbid curiosity had prompted them to wish to witness the awful ending of the

Chomp tragedy was the gallows court. It appeared to be to the desire Sheriff Vulaire that this court should contain only a very few spectators, But by some mysterious means, it was suddenly occupied by two hundred or more, and the whole crowd was promptly ordered out of it by the sheriff. The deputies drove the crowd back toward the entrance, and in a very few minutes only twenty or thirty people were to be seen, and most of these were

officials and properly accredited press representatives. Then the sheriff disappeared, and in an incredibly short space the court was mysteriously filled again. Once more, the sheriff put in an appearance, and again the crowd vanished, only to reappear again as soon as he had passed. Finally, it was discovered that instead of going out of the court altogether, these eager spectators were playing a rather undignified game of hide and

seek with the sheriff. As many as forty or fifty would conceal themselves in a door at the end of the ground floor quarridor which skirted the court, where they could crouch beneath the winding stairway leading to the upper gallery, while others would dodge into the ground floor cells, which are always emptied of their tenants on the day of a hanging, the supposition probably being that many are so anxious to witness a hanging that if the prisoners were

permitted to witness one of these elevating and soul refining exhibitions. The gloomy old place would be overrun with men serving ten days sentences in the hope that they might be lucky enough to occupy cells fronting on the gallows Court.

It was certainly amusing to see fat and puffy businessmen and politicians, weighing two hundred pounds or more, and evidently accustomed to slow and pompous locomotion, dodging about pillars and ducking under stairways, and otherwise playing hide and seek with the sheriff and his deputies, and a manner not more dignified than that of the commonest guttersnipe stealing a ride on a street car. At eleven o'clock.

to see the hanging at all hazards. All that was seen of the tragedy from this ground floor of the Galaws Court may be told in a few words. About twelve ten, the hangman and his loose black domino adjusted the chair on the black hen's platform and connected it

with the cell gallery by a little plank bridge. Then he fully measured the rope examined and the noose, and measured to the rope, so that the condemned man might have the greatest fall possible without permitting his toes to reach the pavement, after making due allowance for any possible

stretching of the rope and tightening of the news. Then from time to time one and another of the officials visited the hangman in his cage, and again and again the people beneath the gallery were startled into a fever of expectation by hearing the tramp and shuffling of many feet over ahead. But again and again it had proved

a false alarm. The hangman stood in his cell, looking through the small grating, frequently working at his cow with trembling fingers, as if the long suspense were having its effect. Even upon his iron nerves. At last, a few minutes after one o'clock, everybody in the Gallow's court was driven back close under the gallery. There was more shuffling and tramping overhead, and then the hangman stepped quickly out of

his cell with a small cord in his hand. Then those who were nearing the outer edge of the gallery looking up, saw a pair of bleached, bloodless and withered looking hands extended toward the hangman, though no portion of his body was visible to these occupants of the ground floor. As they craned their necks and peered out from under the gallery during the early portion of the morning, Dechamp took advantage of doctor Lemanier's presence in his cell to

attack him roundly. He said, you could have saved me, you even you of all the others, but no, you preferred to disgrace an honorable name in France. After services in the chapel, the old man again returned to the death cell and sat among his guards. He had specially requested that no reporters be allowed to approach him, and this, having been made in the nature of a last request, was granted by the sheriff, and the press excluded from

the little gallery in its one open cell. From the time of services until the march to the gallows, Dechamp did not again leave the limits of the condemned cell and corridor. He seemed not at all familiar with the new cell into which he had been moved, and spent as much of his time as possible outside of it.

It had been like saying a last farewell to an old home for Dechamp to leave his old cell and go into the strange one from which his companion Philip Baker had walked forth to that awful black platform from which he never returned. De Champ knew every mark on the old cell, every notch on the floor, every spot on the wall and ceiling, every shadow of every time of day. All of his rude treasures were in the

old cell. His beloved books of the French Infidels, his piles of newspapers, each containing something which had interested him very much at the time of its publication, His sketches of those vulgar, prying, curiosity mongers who all through the long Nightmare had haunted his soal by day and by night. And the blue moon to which he once had prayed

that all the world might think him insane. All of these he had left, and in the other cells a swarm of new associations, all interwarped in the subdued tangle of muttering voices, curious, pitying glances, and holy visits of priests and nuns, made the place so strange and palling that he shunned it as the living do a tomb.

He sat upon the little gallery most of the time, only entering the soal now and then to speak with the Good Father, who never relinquished his purpose of trying to get the old man to become reconciled to his God. The priest would come and go, but those who watched his expression as he tripped down the long corridor to the chapel after each talk with the man knew that Dechamp had not yet yielded to the holy supplications of the Father. He was very restless in his last hours.

His face was that of a man whose mind had long been fixed upon the contemplation of some horrible fancy, with all the fervor of which it is capable. Beneath his eyes were dark rings, and the eyes themselves were bright and keen, as are coals of fire. That are blown upon by the winds. Beside the death watch. None but his friends sat outside his last hours upon the

little gallery beside him. Those who were fortunate enough to have gotten places by certain of the barred windows, looking upon the white yard, would ever and Anon catch a glimpse of Dechamp by the back door of a cell. He was careful, though, that no curious eyes should feast too highly, for when his furtive glance fell upon the peering eyes of some looker who had a particularly good point of observation, he would at once change his position.

All of the entreaties of the priest, the sisters, and his good Catholic friends availed nothing toward getting the old man to go to holy confession. His purpose of going down into the dim valley as he had lived, with his secrets known to none but himself, was as immovable as the great pile of that same gray prison in which he would die. Through it all, Deucham had never lost his childish faith in the certainty of his being saved,

even at the last second. All through the slow dragging hours of the morning, he had ever in Anon said to his death watch, I shall not die. The acting French counsel, mister Minnie, was in the building and walked back and forth between the death cell and the office below. Those who saw him moving so hurriedly began to doubt, after all, whether this wizard of an old man.

Looking back upon events now, it appears probable that the consul's motive and entering and re entering the condemned cell was more the result of solicitude for the religious well being of the old man than of any plan or hope of being able to save him from the gallows. Yet with Descham it was an abiding faith, and it was only when the coroner's jury filed into the little

gallery that his hope fled him. Then, when a figure of a man entered his cell and a hand was laid upon his shoulder with a gentle come de Champ.

The time has come. He arose wearily, and all the hope that had brightened his eye was gone, leaving in its place a steely glitter that momentarily grew deader, until as he stepped into the gallows it flared up for a single moment into a flash of unwonted brightness, and then changed to a leaden dullness, as if even then he was gazing through the damp half light of the vapors that had hung over the valley of the Shadows. It was about a quarter afternoon when the coroner's jury

stepped into the death cell. When the jury was all gathered, the silent Chief Deputy Arnaud read the death warrant to the condemned man, stepped out of his cell and stood by the door. There was no fear upon the face.

in a low tone. You will simply excite yourself, holding the death warrant in his hand and tapping Deschamp gently upon the chest with it. No, I am not excited, he said, in a calm tone. That was all he said for the present. An absolute hush, save for the buzz of voices in the distant yard below. The death warrant was read. The Champ stood perfectly upright, with his feet slightly apart, his chest well out, and his head held back. He was under a terrific physical strain, and

he stood it magnificently. Every muscle in his body was stretched to the utmost in the one overmastering desire to keep unmoved. Had he relaxed his muscles, he might have trembled. He scarcely even moved his eyes. His hands were held fairly in front of him, the fingers knit and the palms downward. Nothing perhaps about his position indicated more strongly than this the physical mastery which he was exerting over himself. He did not listen to the death warrant. His thoughts were,

no doubt, on other very different things. Now and then he would glance through the bars of the crowd, upon the roof, and in the couple of the prison. There was a contemptuous defiance in the expression of his eyes. At such times as the last words of the warrant were being read, Dechamp cast his eye about among the jury until they rested upon someone whom he had been seeking. It was Coroner le Monier, And when his glance had found him, Dechamp did not again look away until he

walked from the death cell. An expression of animation came into the old man's eyes. At the close of the death warrant. Again he brought up his hand, and again the jury leaned forward to hear what he had to say. Listen, you men of the jury. He said, I am not the murderer. There he is, and his wrinkled hand pointed away to where Coroner le Monier was leaning against the bars. Dechamp speaks no English. All that he said was in French.

At his last words, even those who did not understand the language knew from his expression that what he had said was a very grave import What did he say? What did he say? Cried the English speaking portion of the jury, putting their heads together. Gentlemen, said Coroner le Monier in a loud voice. He says, I am a murderer. Then the coroner looked at him and smiled grimly. Is this your first criminal offense, doctor, asked the Times Democrat reporter,

who stood by the coroner's side. Yes, I suppose so, he said, laughing. It is one of my eccentricities. I would rather.

The coroner's jury marched in twos behind the guards. It took all the energies of the prison authorities to keep the excited throng who filled the corridors from joining the death march and filling out into the gallery, even as it was a number of these managed to get through, and were only expelled by elimination, that is, by calling off the names of the jury, and excluding from the gallery all of those whose names had not been called.

Deschamp and Father LeBlanc, the Jesuit priest, now entered together Cell number eight, that fateful prison room from which so many condemned men have walked forth to the death rope. In this cell the last prayers were to be said. It was now nearly twelve thirty. A hush fell over the great crowds in the windows and courtyards when it became known that these last rites were being performed. Outside of the cell, two sisters of Charity prayed fervently.

dormer windows, and clustered about the cupola. That there was among the authorities some apprehension that the old man might attempts suicide was clearly evinced by the words which Sheriff Valaire was overheard to say to a deputy, Sheriff, be very careful to get the rope on him before he gets outside of the railing, so that he can't throw

himself off. After priest and criminal had been in the cell for ten minutes, it being then twelve thirty five, Father LeBlanc appeared at the door and requested that three chairs be sent into the cell, and that Sheriff Valaire and deputy are no enter. Send pen, ink and paper, cried Sheriff Vlaire, appearing at the door. After a few moments a confession, said everybody, and the strain of interest increased. In ten minutes more, the crowd again had been mastered

by their nerves and were talking rather too loud. At this moment, Father LeBlanc again.

the half light. Dechamp had his chair drawn up to a table upon which stood facing him a crucifix next to him, leaning back in his chair, with Sheriff v Laire on the opposite side of the table set Deputy Arnaud writing upon a slip of paper, with Father LeBlanc standing and leaning over his shoulder. Dechamp was apparently dictating something now and then he would rise nervously from his seat and lean over the table. It was evident that

he was saying something. Deputy Arnaud would listen closely and then consult with Father LeBlanc and finally write upon the paper. At twelve fifty a sharp rap sounded upon the floor inside the cell. It was Sheriff Vlaire bringing his chair down from his tip back position to sign the document. Within a minute, Sheriff Vlaire and Deputy Arnault came out of the cell, leaving the priest and the doomed man together for the final prayers. The execution was now in

a matter of a very few minutes. In the meanwhile, the reporters were busy trying to find out what the purport of the document was. Neither of the men who had been in the cell would say there was no further time for investigation, for at this moment the cell door swung slowly open, and the black robed priest appeared, with the doomed man following like a child behind him. At one o seven, the old man stepped upon the

platform leading to the gallows. It cannot be said that he was pale, his face was too sallow for that. In a few words, he said goodbye to those about him, while the priest held the crucifix up to his mouth. Meanwhile, the great shrouded form of the executioner, who looked like nothing so much as some enormous demon, had advanced to the gallows and was now engaged in binding the hands of the doomed man behind his back. As the executioner caught his hands and his great vice like grip, the

old man made not the slightest resistance. He looked straight before him once, as the knot was being tied, his eyes fell for a moment, and his shoulders moved with a barely perceptible convulsive movement. The hands were quickly lashed firmly together by the hangman, who then stepped toward the gallows in order to reach his rope. And just as he did so, Eddie end Is showed stepped out into the little gallery and stood in full view of the

eager crowd of spectators. But it was only for an instant, and one of the officials quickly stepped between him and the front rail of the gallery, as if to guard against the possibility of any last desperate attempt at suicide. His arms tied, he was led out to the gallows, walking with firm tread at the juncture of the platform and the plank leading to the gallows. The executioner stopped the old man and put the rope over his neck.

The priests stood close beside the doomed man, holding the crucifix before him, while the hangman adjusted the noose quickly, but with considerable care and workmanlike accuracy. Right here was

gotten the clue into champseral condition of mine. He was physically weak with apprehension, possibly fright, but a magnificent intellectuality and pride bore him up as he felt the smooth hardness of the waxed noose drop over his neck, a wild, despairing look came into his eyes, and his head jerked back, and for the merest fraction of a second it seemed to the close observer that he was on the point of breaking down.

cast a contemptuous look at the eager crowd below. Not a muscle of his face moved, nor was there a suspicion of moisture to dim the cold, steely glitter of his clear, light blue eye. But if there ever was expression in a look, there was cold, withering contempt in that last glance that Ideenne de Champ cast upon his fellow creatures huddled together in the gallows court. He had announced that from the scaffold, he would make a general denunciation of those who wronged him.

single word was his last. His feet were now bound. The great executioners sprang from the trap, ran rapidly around the rope block. There was the sound of a mighty axe blow, and the trap fell with a rushing noise. In the meantime, the hangman had lashed his legs together, and the look of bitterness was extinguished by the black

cap that was quickly pulled down over his face. The hangman sprang from the gallows and dashed into his cell, while one of the officials quickly snatched away the little bridge and this service was not performed an instant too soon, for hardly had the hangman disappeared. When the rope was severed. At a single blow, the trap fell and eddy end as shunk was launched into eternity. Dechamp had fallen eight feet and hung swinging over the stones of the court.

Immediately there was a great rush of the crowd to feast upon the sight of the miserable creature hanging from the gallows. It was a disgusting exhibit of morbid curiosity. For eight minutes, the struggle continued. At the end of sixteen minutes, pulsation had apparently ceased, and as it was not renewed during the thirty two minutes that the body was kept in suspension, it was concluded at one forty one that the man was dead. Death resulted from strangulation,

the neck not having been broken. An autopsy was held by Deputy coroner Archanard, and it was announced by a committee of medical men in collaboration with him that the brain was perfectly normal, and that the congestion of the brain which the autopsy revealed, was the result of strangulation. This sets to rest forever the question of Eddieanne Deschamp's sanity that was atrocity at Saint Peter Street, La Chateain

Juliet and the Perverted Professor of Magnetic Physiology. Called from the historic pages of the New Orleans Times, Democrat, the New Orleans Times, Picayune, and other newspapers of the era. True Crime Historian is a creation of popular media. Opening theme by Nico Vitessen, closing theme by Dave Sam's and Rachel shott In engineered by David Hish at Third Street Music Media Management, and original graphics for each episode by Sean R.